The Dowggie Blog

Around 20 minutes ago, I was on my way home after bringing my daughter to school. Three times the jeepney in front of me picked passengers up without first pulling over to the side. Being right behind the guy, I could see that there was room to pull over. It would have been no skin off his nose to do so. But being a quintessentially lazy Pinoy, he couldn’t be bothered.

The third time he did it, I honked my horn at him indignantly.

He pulled over. I overtook him, zooming ahead in a huff.

A few hundred meters later, I spied a traffic enforcer by the side of the road. I pulled over and reported the errant jeepney driver.

As I was relating the jeepney driver’s assholic behaviour, lo and behold the jeepney in question showed up. I pointed the guy out to the traffic enforcer. The jeepney was pulled over.

The jeepney driver got out of his jeep and came over. Words were exchanged.

As is typical of the ilk, the jeepney driver scratched his head and mumbled something about, “… naghahanap buhay lang po…”. He was also clearly miffed at being pulled over and being given a ticket when he could be plying his uncourteous road behaviour. He asked for forgiveness, but in a tone a tad too hot for my taste.

“Bos, kaya nga humihingi ng dispensa, eh…”, he said.

“Bakit kita bibigyan ng kunsiderasyon kung wala kang kunsidersayon para sa mga ibang tao sa paligid mo?”, I asked.

Faced with that insurmountable zen koan, he was flummoxed, unable to reply.

I turned to the traffic enforcer and said, “Tiketan niyo po.”

The jeepney driver was clearly ticked off.

“Walang kinalaman sa paghahanap-buhay yang kalakaran mo,” I said. “Lahat tayo naghahanap-buhay. Kaso hindi naman mahirap tumabi pag-magsasakay ka, eh. Tinatamad ka lang.”

Quite a few of the jeepney’s passengers, annoyed at being delayed thus, got off and asked for their money back.

The jeepney driver was now good and pissed.

So being the considerate fellow I am, I offered him a chance to engage in fisticuffs.

“Mukhang bad trip ka,” I observed. “Tara!”

Thankfully, he declined my offer. He walked back to his jeep shaking his head.

I couldn’t resist giving him this parting shot — “Masyado kayong nasasanay sa ganyang kalakaran! Sa susunod, pag-isipan mo muna bago ka gumawa ng bagay na mali. Matuto ka!”

Played a gig at Nuvo City last night. WIth Kat Agarrado, Reli de Vera and Dave Harder.

Great gig!

Except that my nose gushed blood for the better part of two hours. Huge glops of blood too.

Had to play onstage with tissue stuffed up my nose. But that looked funny — especially when the wads of tissue were saturated with blood — so I then wrapped a purple bandana around my face.

So I was Olop The Bloody Reindeer a.k.a. Bogart The Jazz Ninja.

Hahahahahaha!
It was nice having my chops back, though. Nice to be able to shred again when the situation calls for it. Yeba! Woof!

c”,)

No, this has nothing to do with Dan Brown.

Just wanna put things down for the record.

This morning I did my good deed for the day. Over the past few months, I’ve been on chikahan terms with a trio of Paranaque street sweepers. One of them, Pablo, didn’t report for work today due to an acute attack of arthritis.  Apparently Pablo lives alone and has no one upon whom to rely for help — for even as small a trifle as walking over to the nearest drugstore for medicine.  

So I impulsively elected to drive over to his house and offer to pick up medicine for him. Being quintessentially Pinoy, Pablo refused the offer. Diyahe kasi.

So being a bull-headed Arian (no relation to Hitler’s ilk, mind you), I went ahead and got him a few tablets of his arthritis meds. I couldn’t get him more than a few because to do so would likely make him feel too indebted. But I had to do something.

Again, what I call the angelsong would not be denied.

I try to give my whole self over to the angelsong as much as I can.

The thing about angels, though… they seem to come with concurrent daemons. Daevas and daemons. They seem to come in pairs.

My personal daemon is the force that drives me to make music. It’s the undeniable force which keeps me up in the wee hours of the morning, driving me to play my guitar with fingers rendered numb by a year-long spinal affliction and its consequent nerve damage.

My daemon is the single-minded force which keeps me going despite trifling obstacles like logic, economics and worldly reality.

If my guardian angel, The Angel Shprengtot, is the heavenly voice who prods me gently into acts of random kindness, then my daemon, The Daemon Baluga, is the one who whacks me with his dowggie prod and drives me to be more than human.

More than human.

Diamond.

Indestructible.

Able to cut through anything.

Hubris? Perhaps. Most likely so.

But hey, that comes with being a hero.

This Icarus is learning to fly again. The sky is my birthright. As God is my witness, I’ve earned these wings many times over. And if I have to grapple with all the daemons of hell to fly again, then so be it.

I still stand. I shall fly again. And forever shall I believe in love.

WOOF!

c”,)